


The World's Greatest Detective

by nirejseki



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, crossover with Batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: In this world, things go differently after Nora Allen is killed.In this world, they walk down a different road.In this world, the road leads them to...Gotham?





	The World's Greatest Detective

**Author's Note:**

> ...so one day I wanted to write a fic where Barry meets Batman. For @oneiriad, for the inspiration and for your long flight.

"It's not that I'm not grateful," Henry says, because he is, really. 

If it wasn't for the thief - for _Leonard Snart_ , Henry forcefully corrects himself - then, well, who knows where he and Barry would be? 

Not that Snart's story - that he'd been thinking about breaking into a house on the Allen's block (though carefully not admitting he'd actually taken the last step and done anything, of course) when a figure wreathed in lightning had appeared in front of him, calling him by name and begging him to protect the young Barry Allen - was any less fanciful than Barry and Henry's own stories about a whirlwind of lightning, but the cops knew Snart well enough to be surprised by the idea that he'd come up with such a dumb story ("If that's the best Snart comes up with, it's probably true," a detective by the name of Singh, who wasn’t assigned to their case, opined to the papers), and Snart had testified to seeing a man in lightning exiting the Allen household, splatted in blood, shortly after.

Henry knows that it was Snart's explanation, so scathing and sarcastic and matter-of-fact, of a man who had to be utilizing tricks to create confusion, that swayed the jury into finding Henry not guilty by reasonable doubt.

Not that that means that they didn't think he did it. They just don't think the prosecution proved it, but that's enough. 

And, too, Henry knows that he owes far more than just his freedom and his son to Snart: when his practice failed and the hospital let him go (no one wants a suspected murderer for a surgeon, even if the crime is unrelated to his work), he didn't know what to do until Snart had talked to one of the downtown clinics about taking him on. Henry suspects Snart did more than that, too: the clinic has seen a startling rise in the number of paying (albeit clearly criminal) patients, and at least one had let slip that Henry was "just as good as Snart said". 

Snart even managed to find them this house - far cheaper than the one he shared with Nora, something he could manage on top of the bills for the lawyers and Barry's therapy and all with his reduced salary - and Henry's grateful for that, too. He hadn't had many options or friends to turn to, what with Joe still thinking that he was a murderer who got away and all. 

Henry knows all that.

But - and Henry is quite serious here - why is Snart _still here_?

"That lightning runner said to take care of Barry," Snart replies firmly. "And that's what I'm going to do."

Henry opens his mouth - looks at the kitchen where Snart's arsonist friend Mick is cooking them dinner since Henry's really only good at grilling, looks at the kitchen table where Snart is permitting Barry to teach him basic algebra as a sneaky method of teaching it back to Barry, at Barry who's laughing at Snart's long-suffering whining about how he dropped out of high school for a good reason, looks at Lisa (Snart's younger sister) who's finished her own homework and is playing the peanut gallery - and then shakes his head.

Nora always said he ought to stop looking gift horses in the mouth. 

The problem, as it is, arises later. 

Snart's word of mouth is apparently better than gold, because Henry never knew how many poor people were pathetically grateful to have an affordable surgeon in their area. They're not just criminals, as he'd originally thought: just poor people, stuck in the slums, ignoring increasingly dangerous ailments because they won't go under the knife of a drunkard.

"We need to hire more doctors," he tells the head of the clinic.

Pre looks at him with a touch of sadness. "Henry," she says kindly. "I would if I could."

"But I'm sure I could convince a few of my old colleagues -"

"The part time pro bono clinic you set up is great," Pre says. "Don't get me wrong. But we need full timers. People who take a case from start to finish. And I can't afford to pay 'em. I'm barely even affording you, and that's with you accepting pennies to the dollar of what you're used to."

Henry has to admit it's true.

"City Hall takes the money earmarked for the slums and puts it in their pocket," Pre continues. "More and more each year that they notice nobody cares. Our funding is very small. You want more doctors? Get us more money."

Henry nods and goes home early to look at his savings for the hundredth time. He knows he can't deplete it - there's Barry to think of - but so many people in need. He has enough to pay for one more doctor for a year, he thinks, or at least six months -

"You _can't_ ," he hears Lisa say through the door to his office, and he's stopped by the despair in her voice. "Lenny, please! You know it's a bad job, you said it yourself; you'll go to _prison_ again -"

"There's nothing _else_ ," Snart replies, and his voice is wretched like Henry's never heard it before. "Lise, I've looked, I swear. I just ain't got capital for it by myself. I spent it all getting the cash for this place -"

"Exactly! You don't need the money," Lisa argues. "It's not so urgent as it was, anymore - I don't _need_ to graduate early - I'm not back with Dad, getting hit more often than not -"

Henry flinches. Snart had insisted his sister get the spare bedroom of their new apartment and never explained why.

"I know, and I'm grateful for it," Snart says.

"And _I'm_ grateful for the fact that it means you don't have to work for him anymore," she shoots back. "Or do you think I don't know what he makes you do, saying he'll take it out on me if you don't?"

"Lise -"

"We can _wait_ , Lenny! I don't want you to go to prison!"

"It might not come to that," Snart says, but even Henry can tell he doesn't really believe it. "And even if I'm caught, the money’ll still be safe and – and it'll only be a few years, and Mick will be here -"

"I _refuse_ to let you go to prison just to pay for me to go to college," she hisses.

Henry stops. He and Nora had put money aside for Barry's college fund, of course, and he'd never touched the money no matter how dire things seemed. But there was only money in there for Barry, university and even grad school, and it wouldn't cover Lisa, who he saw as practically one of his own, now...

"It's not that weird to take a year off," she continues. "That gives you more time to find something better."

Snart snorts. "Lise," he says gently. "I've been looking for 'better' for two years." 

"But -"

"I got one big score," Snart says. "And I used it for this house for you, and for Barry, and I don't regret it. I get enough from the rest of the stuff I do to help pay the mortgage so Henry don't realize he can't afford the place. But it ain't enough."

"Lenny -"

"College can wait a year," he says while Henry's still reeling. "But your ice skating can't."

Lisa falls silent.

"Your coach said Nationals," Snart continues. "Maybe even the Olympics. But neither of us can afford the fancy training you'd need for it without some egotistical college backing you, and there's an age window for it. Now or never, Lise."

"I don't -"

"You've wanted to do this since you were a kid," Snart says firmly. "Decision's made."

"But -"

Henry knocks over a pencil case. 

They both fall silent. 

Henry opens the door. They both look squirrelly, neither having realized he'd come home early.

"How much?" he asks.

"Henry -" Snart starts.

Henry holds up a hand. Snart falters, and for a minute he looks painfully young. He's only twelve years older than Barry, really, and he's already been in and out of the prison system. He's seven years older than his sister, and Henry would bet that he's been caring for her ever since she was born.

He never got a chance to be a kid, and that's just as wrong as what Henry's been struggling with, with all those people in the slums that need him. 

Snart needs him, too. 

"How much?" Henry repeats.

Lisa says a number.

It'd be most of his savings. 

"Okay," Henry says. "I'll write you a check.”

"You can't," Snart protests. "Barry -"

"I'm not touching his college fund," Henry says. "And if we need to move to a smaller apartment, so be it. He'll be fine."

"What about your clinic?" Lisa asks. "Weren't you going to use it for that?"

Henry hadn't realized they'd known about how he kept looking at the money he had stored away, but in retrospect he was probably fairly obvious about it.

“I have a different idea for that,” he lies. “Some things are more important.” 

The Snarts look skeptical. He can’t blame them; from what he’s heard, they never had any adult that would help them the way a father ought to.

Just as he’s trying to think of what to tell them, an idea finally comes to him. He’s asked for his friends’ skills, not their money, thinking they would be more inclined to assist that way, but he hadn’t thought about fathers and children.

Or, perhaps more correctly, children who longed to be fathers.

“Go tell Barry and get everyone packed up,” Henry says. “We’re going on a road trip. All of us.”

Snart crosses his arms, clearly (and correctly) identifying Henry’s desire for him to join in on the road trip as a mechanism to keep him from the temptation of this sure-to-go-wrong job. “Where to?” 

Henry smiles. “Gotham.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas Wayne was an amazing doctor and an even better man. He’d been Henry’s mentor back in med school and, later, during his residency; he’d taken a liking to Henry when Henry had declined his scholarship because he could just about afford the price of school while the next guy in line had no hope of it. They’d kept up an infrequent correspondence for a while after Henry had moved to Central with Nora, and Henry had been distraught to hear of his death. He’d sent a note to Thomas’ son, Bruce, making sure to address the cover envelope to the butler who was handling correspondence with instructions to only give it to Bruce when it wouldn’t be a burden, and not to bother with a thank you note in return. He’d also included a message of condolences for the butler himself, of course. 

“Your card was one of the kindest we received,” Bruce – now a young man, only a few years older than Snart but with tired eyes that make him seem much older in just the same way – tells him. “Most people forget about Alfred.”

“We’re unaccustomed to butlers in America,” Henry says wryly. “Sometimes people forget that butlers are people at all. I blame the movies, myself.”

Bruce cracks a practiced grin.

Henry shakes his head. “No need to make the effort to be charming, Mr. Wayne,” he says. “To be blunt, I’m here to ask for money; it would be rude for me to pretend it’s just a social call.”

“Most people still do,” Bruce says wryly, the smile fading into something a little more real. “I appreciate your honesty. What brings you here?”

“In this case I am like most people,” Henry says just as wryly. “I’m here to trade upon an old relationship and your reputation for philanthropy. I know you primarily focus on Gotham-based charities, but the slums in Central are, if anything, a match –”

Bruce holds up his hands and Henry pauses in his hastily cobbled-together sales pitch. 

“You’re here to ask for money for a charity?” Bruce clarifies.

“I work at a clinic that services low-income individuals in the Central City slums,” Henry explains. “If we had an additional source of income – even for just one year – we could hire another doctor. Maybe two.” He shakes his head. “I’m a surgeon, not a generalist; I do what I can, but there’s always a need for more.”

“I see,” Bruce says. “I had thought…” He trails off, his cheeks pinking very slightly.

“You thought I needed money because none of my friends would talk to me after my acquittal?” Henry asks. It’s true. Not even Joe talks to him anymore. 

“Yes,” Bruce says, the embarrassment fading. Henry’s not sure if it was ever real, or if it was for his benefit. Bruce is very self-controlled, masked behind a guise of carelessness; it’s only that Henry knew Thomas’ own self-control quite so well that he can recognize it. 

Henry shakes his head. “We –” He swallows, because it’s still hard. “Nora and I, we put aside money for Barry’s college fund from the day he was born. I’m never touching that money. The rest of it, well, we’re managing quite well.”

“I heard you moved in with the criminal that testified for you,” Bruce says.

“He’s a good kid,” Henry says. 

“You’re not denying he’s a criminal?”

“Bit hard to deny,” Henry says because, well, it’s true. Len’s a criminal down to his bones. “But beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not from Central originally, so I really only knew the more expensive white-collar areas. I needed advice and a place to go, and, well…”

“None of your old friends were talking to you.”

Henry nods. “That’s also why I’m here,” he adds, trying to bring the conversation back to where it started. “I know my old friends and the few that do still talk to me would disappear at the first request for money; I’ve asked them for time, instead, but some part-time pro bono work at the clinic can’t replace a real full-time doctor.”

Bruce nods. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says. “I’m always happy to donate to worthwhile causes.”

Henry breathes a sigh of relief, which makes Bruce smile. 

“Perhaps we could talk about it over lunch?” Bruce suggests. “Alfred always starts us promptly at noon.” He rings a bell.

The butler, Alfred, appears, as proper as ever – though strangely frazzled.

“The Allens will be joining us for lunch,” Bruce says. “Please ask Dick to join us.”

Dick presumably referred to Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward of just over six months. It was a hard thing for a man in his early twenties to adopt a ten-year-old boy – less than a year younger than Barry – but Bruce had managed it. 

“Master Dick has already made his way down,” Alfred says wryly. “He and the younger Mr. Allen have apparently taken a liking to each other and are currently playing tag.” 

“Tag,” Bruce says, sounding bemused.

“Yes, Master Bruce. They appear to be pretending to be pirates as well. It is, I have been informed, a game known as 'Pirate Tag'.”

“Pirate Tag. Well, good for Dick,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “Let’s start lunch an hour late, then, and let them play. Dick doesn’t make friends easily,” he explains to Henry. 

“Understandable,” Henry says. “Barry hasn’t really made many friends either, not since what happened to his mother.”

Richard Greyson lost his parents in a terrible accident, which some rumor claimed to be a murder; Barry had lost his mother to a murderer and very nearly his father to the criminal justice system. In retrospect, it made perfect sense for them to get along.

Bruce and Henry share understanding looks. 

“So,” Bruce says. “Tell me more about your work in the clinic.”

Henry happily complies. 

However, an hour later, the kids are nowhere to be found.

“The house isn’t that big, Alfred,” Bruce says sharply. 

“My apologies, Master Bruce –” 

“Oh, crap,” Henry says, looking at a window. The frame was just a little cleaner than the others. 

He’d gotten pretty good at recognizing things like that.

Bruce looks at him.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you recall how I mentioned Leonard Snart to you?”

“I recall.”

“I brought him along on the trip, as well as his younger sister Lisa and his partner, Mick Rory; they promised they wouldn’t get into trouble, and I was under the impression that they were touring the city today, but –”

“A giant mansion is too tempting to resist?” Bruce asks, frowning. “I don’t mind that, but – what does that have to do with where the kids are?”

“They probably joined the kids’ game and explored the house,” Henry says regretfully. Kleptomaniacs, all of them! “Do you have any hidden compartments or anything? I think Snart can smell them out –”

Bruce looks alarmed. “Please wait here,” he says, and hurries away.

“I can help,” Henry tells Alfred. “But I understand if he doesn’t want me to see where he’s hidden his valuables. Is there anywhere else I can look?”

“Master Bruce will be able to determine fairly rapidly if Mr. Snart and the others have gotten into the relevant area,” Alfred says. “If they are not there, we can begin to worry –”

There’s a loud noise.

Henry dashes after it, Alfred in hot pursuit.

There’s an open wall – a candlestick bent over sideways reveals that it was once a grandfather clock that slide aside to reveal a passage – and there is the sound of voices beneath.

“Mr. Allen –” Alfred starts.

Henry ignores him – there’s nothing that’ll get between him and Barry, should Barry be in danger, not ever again – and goes down the cobwebbed stairs.

Inside, there’s…a cave? But there are computers everywhere. Some sort of server room? But why would that be hidden?

“Dick,” Bruce is saying. “You know better –”

“They found it on their own!” Dick is arguing. 

“Can someone explain why there’s a giant penny?” Mick asks, his eyes fixed on what is, in fact, a giant penny. He’s there, because of course he is, and the two Snarts and a very excited looking Barry.

“Is this a server room?” Henry asks Alfred, starting to get the distinct feeling it is not.

“No, Dad,” Barry says. “It’s the Batcave! You know, for Batman and Robin!”

“…I can explain,” Bruce says.

“Nope,” Snart says. “You really, really, really can’t.”

\----------------------------------------------------

"Lenny!" Lisa exclaims, hands on hips in proper angry sixteen-year-old girl style, even though she's now eighteen. "This is all your fault!"

Henry hides a smile under his hand. Len - definitely Len, now that he'd explained how much he dislikes being called Snart in private - blinks at her owlishly. "What's my fault?"

"You told the Penguin's people not to rough me up so much!"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, _that_!" she scowls. "How am I supposed to be a proper Robin if you scare the supervillains into behaving?"

"Not the supervillains, just the thugs," Len corrects. "And I told them that all _three_ Robins are off limits."

"Wait, what?" Dick says, sitting up straight. He'd been smirking at Lisa until that point.

Barry - sitting next to him - laughs. "Told you," he says smugly.

"You can't do that!" Dick exclaims.

"I can and did," Len says. 

"Bruce, tell him he can't do that," Dick says to Bruce as he walks in, half-dressed in his Batman gear and looking distracted. Alfred is walking in behind him with a long suffering expression.

Henry catches his glance and arches his eyebrows in silent question. Alfred shakes his head - no need for Henry to take up his part-time role as the Batman's private surgeon tonight.

(The kids call Henry the Bat-doc, but Henry's pretty sure Mick's the source of the name.)

It'd worked out surprisingly well, all in all. Barry and Lisa were Robins alongside Dick, now, which made them happy and made Dick safer, which made Bruce happy. Len and Mick - who'd gotten the media nicknames Captain Cold and Heatwave, respectively - were now fellow masked vigilantes, striking terror on the Bat's behalf and saving his ass on occasion, which made Dick and Alfred happy.

They do keep stealing the Bat-mobile, but they also return it, which everyone's taking as a win. 

Henry gets to take them all back to Central for all holiday and summer breaks, which made _him_ happy - sure, he's only a jet flight away from the fancy boarding school in Gotham Bruce had arranged and paid for Barry to attend alongside Dick, but he likes having them around and Len and Mick are always pleased to have an excuse to lord about their town (which, lacking as it did any proper supervillains, they'd conquered fairly quickly). 

Bruce also paid for a dozen new doctors for Henry's clinic and Lisa's training for the Olympics, which she’d signed up for in lieu of starting college immediately, which made everyone happy.

"What can't he do?" Bruce asks. "Len, the Riddler left another love letter to you; you really need to stop answering his terrible riddles with terrible puns. It only encourages him."

"I've _told_ him I'm taken. He just enjoys my ability to devise them on the fly."

"Yes, but the Penguin will _still_ kill you if this continues. He gets jealous. Please check the note to see if he's invited you on another heist. If he has, _refuse_."

Len sniggers but takes the note.

"He's made the thugs agree not to rough us up!" Dick protests.

"Len?"

"Too hard," Len says. "Rough them up _too hard_. All the Robins."

"How'd you do it?"

"Made it a union rule."

Lisa, Barry and Dick all groan. The unionization of Gotham's supervillain thugs was the bane of their existence.

Mick had been unanimously elected union rep, for reasons that absolutely escaped Henry.

"How'd you even get them to vote it in?" Dick grumbles.

Len shrugs. "Limiting child brutality is for everyone's best interest; juries hate it. Having a blanket rule'll cut down jail sentences."

Bruce hums in thought. "And that way, we'll be able to identify anyone who's using non-union guys," he says. "Good. We don't want the League of Shadows sneaking in an army."

"Again."

"Yes, again."

"But -" Dick starts.

"It's too late," Barry says glumly. "It's settled."

Lisa heaves a sigh.

Both Dick and Barry take a moment out of their sulking to observe Lisa's bustline heave with the sigh. 

It isn't even that impressive a heave - her chest is mostly covered in armor - but they _are_ thirteen year old boys.

"Can we talk about my proposed Robin recruit instead?" Lisa asks.

Bruce frowns at her. "We're not recruiting new Robins. It's not an expanding position."

"Yes, it is," Lisa says briskly. "It has been since we talked our way into it. And if we don't recruit Barbara now, I'm telling you, she'll make her own costume and head out on the streets by herself without any training."

Bruce looks forbidding, which is really just his way of reluctantly agreeing.

"Better to get her training," Mick opines.

"She's the police commissioner's daughter -"

"Good, she can steal us info," Len says. "Use the resources you have, not the fantasy universe you'd like to have. I've seen the girl, and Lisa's understating things, if anything. I'd be willing to bet she already has a suit, except it won't have any of the nice padding and armor these three have."

"And we'll need someone to take over Lisa's role full-time once she's in college and has finals," Barry says. “Besides, the Olympics are coming up soon; she can’t afford to get hurt now.”

Bruce surveys the room, but if being surrounded by people has taught him anything this past year, it's how to know when he's being overruled by the will of the majority.

Len and Mick have strong feelings on democracy when not in an active battlefield, who knew.

"Fine," Bruce concedes. 

The Robins cheer and jump to their feet, earlier grievances forgotten. "We'll go tell her -"

"Give her the warning spiel -"

"And her new suit -"

"Of course you've designed one already," Bruce says, but it's too late; they've already left.

"Welcome to the joy of having kids," Henry tells Bruce. "I use the term lightly."

Bruce shakes his head, but he's smiling.

They helped teach him that, all of them.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

"You were in a coma for _nine months_!" Henry shouts.

Barry looks startled. Henry doesn't raise his voice often.

"Dad," he says, and comes forward, arms outstretched. 

Henry pulls him into a hug. "God, Barry," he whispers. "You have no idea how the last few months have been - the Gotham crew thought it had to be a themed villain or something, that lightning; Barbara nearly burned her fingers to the quick looking for info in all the secret places in the world, and Jason got into a hundred fights with Bruce over how hard he was interrogating people - Dick started having anxiety attacks again - and Len, Mick, Lisa, god, they were _wrecks_ -"

"It's okay," Barry says. "It's okay. _I'm_ okay."

"The hospital didn't know what to do with you," Henry continues, fully aware and uncaring of the tears that dripped down his face. "Barry, they thought your heart had stopped. _I_ thought your heart had stopped. Even Bruce's fancy Gotham doctor he flew in had no idea why you were still breathing. Hell, even that weirdo from San Francisco, the ex-surgeon friend Bruce has, he couldn't figure out anything; all he could say is that your soul is still in there. Brain death was a _certainty_. You were _dead_ , for all intents and purposes -"

"Dad - Dad - it's okay - I'm here, and I'm okay - and I have superpowers now -"

"And the first thing you do is run off and fight a _cyclone_?!"

"Cyclone-guy, actually. He was attacking Central City! What was I supposed to do?"

Henry laughs wetly. "Once a Robin, always a Robin, huh?"

Barry smiles crookedly. 

"I bumped into Joe," he says. "He said we need to keep my identity a secret - even from Iris -"

"Identity secret, yes," Henry says, finally releasing Barry. "Good job on getting a police contact -" Joe had finally started talking to Henry again, but made clear in every interaction that he thought Henry was a murderer let free on a technicality, so they didn't really talk much; but Joe was Iris' father and Barry did so love Iris, so he’d softened up on that at least. "But you shouldn't keep a secret from Iris."

"It might put her in danger."

"Barry. Has Bruce _ever_ managed a successful relationship with someone who didn't know who he really is? And has it ever helped keep them out of danger?"

"...I take your point," Barry says, making a face. "Uh. Though. She started dating that Eddie guy, because she thought I was dead, so that makes things awkward."

Henry shakes his head and hugs Barry again. "You kids have been in love with each other for years. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Please let me know when the pining has been resolved, this time."

(Barry's later teenage years had involved a lot of ice cream and horrific poetry. The other Robins had read it out to Gotham villains as a low-key torture method; the Penguin in particular was susceptible to trying to bash his head in if he heard too much of it. Scarecrow usually offered suggestions on how to improve the meter.)

Barry laughs. "Okay," he says. "I'll tell Iris. And you should meet Dr. Wells and Cisco and Caitlin -"

"I've met them," Henry says. "They were taking care of you, remember? I visited every day. Dr. Wells said he might have an insight because of his work on the Accelerator, and I was desperate."

Henry's still a little uncomfortable with how hard Wells pushed for the transfer, but whatever; Barry's awake now, and himself. That's what matters.

"Say," Barry says. "I should probably think of a new superhero name. Since I'm not a Robin anymore." He grins. "Cisco still made my costume red, though."

Henry laughs and hugs him again. "Later," he says firmly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a while. Now sit and I'll tell you all the gossip from the last nine months -"

\---------------------------------------------------

"I hate to do this," Henry says apologetically. "I mean, it’s terrible of me to even _suspect_ him. He's done so much for us -"

"I know," Bruce says, his voice tinny over the phone. He’s probably in the cowl. "It happens that way, sometimes. I'll look into it - if it's nothing, it's nothing, but you'll have some peace of mind."

"Thanks," Henry says, feeling very much relieved. "I wish I could give you more of a lead than 'he acts creepy towards Barry sometimes' about Dr. Wells."

"I've worked with less," Bruce says, and then hangs up because he has terrible phone etiquette, and also possibly has started punching someone.

"Goodbye, and have a nice day to you too," Henry says into the phone, shaking his head and hanging up.

Still, he must say he feels better, having the World's Greatest Detective on the case.

Batman will figure this one out. He always does.


End file.
